


Goddamn Poetry

by Identiaetslos



Series: Nox Trevelyan Collection [17]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cass ain’t straight, Cassandra is better at writing than she thinks she is, F/F, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 09:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Identiaetslos/pseuds/Identiaetslos
Summary: Cassandra has a case of impostor syndrome that only Natalie Trevelyan can cure





	Goddamn Poetry

No matter how hard she glared at the page, Cassandra Pentaghast could still not make them say what she wanted. She’d been at this poem for hours. How did creative minds like Varric or Josephine or Natalie ever do this? Cassandra felt like such a failure: It was a simple poem, not a novel and here it was half way through the day and she still couldn’t get past the first verse.

Cassandra growled at herself in frustration and pushed her chair back violently from the writing desk she’d taken over in the Inquisitor’s chambers. She let her eyes focus on the warm summer sun as it streamed through the glass of the large windows behind her. The way the light fell upon the desk, the great rugs on the floor, and fanned out toward the freshly made canopy bed that she shared with her love, it seemed like a blessing from the Maker. A blessing telling her not to continue with this infernal poem.

Natalie was off showing a visiting Arl around Skyhold which, at the moment, sounded a lot more pleasurable than agonizing over trying to be something she could never be.

Cassandra rose and moved to gather her sword, which rested in the shade, on the red velvet sofa near the bed. Just as she came around the desk, the door leading into the chambers opened and she caught the sounds of Natalie “Nox” Trevelyan as she made her way up the stairs.

Natalie was heavy in the foot as she always was, and the thought of her handsome face as a welcome distraction made Cassandra’s heart skip. She turned to the landing and smiled as she caught sight of Natalie’s short red hair and freckled face which looked cross.

“What’s the matter, my love?” Cassandra asked, the joy in her face and heart souring to match the clouds swirling around her beloved’s head.

Natalie shook her head and paused just before Cassandra. Even though Cassandra was among the tallest of the women, Natalie still towered over her. She smelled faintly of the Embrum cologne gifted to her from Marquis Briala, the leather of her long coat, and of apple wine: Either the Arl’s idea, or she’d stopped at Herald’s Rest to blow off some steam. Judging by the look on Natalie’s face, the latter seemed to be the more plausible.

“I hate politics,” Natalie grumbled in that sweet Free Marcher accent that always tickled Cassandra in the right places. 

Natalie seemed to detect Cassandra’s adoration and face softened. She kissed Cassandra lovingly on her forehead before moving past her into the room. “’The Inquisition is doing a marvelous job of fighting off the demons and we are so grateful,’” Natalie mocked the Arl with her voice as much as with her body. “‘But could you not do it in my territory? If you bend to my whim, I’ll give you some pigs other than the one standing in front of you talking.’”

Cassandra couldn’t help a laugh. “Sounds like I missed out. I should have been there and not up here with my foolishness.”

At that Natalie paused, looking like an angelic warrior bathed in the sunlight, and stared at Cassandra as though she’d gone mad. “You hate politics more than me,” the Inquisitor said, lifting a red brow.  
“I’m better at it than writing poetry, and, perhaps, together both of us would have had a more enjoyable afternoon,” Cassandra replied. She moved to the desk, as did Natalie.

“Poetry?” Natalie’s attention turned to the parchment where Cassandra’s failure lay. She looked amused for a moment and then when she started reading, her brow flickered and she sat down.

“Yes. Some of the events we’ve had together inspired me to try writing again, but it’s only been a reminder of how terrible I am at it as you can see.” Cassandra said, fidgeting in her self consciousness as her beloved read her work.

Natalie finished reading and looked at Cassandra as though she were impressed, something that Cassandra felt she did not deserve for such garbage. “This is really good,” Natalie said.

“Please. You don’t have to be nice to me just because you love me,” Cassandra said with a snort. She moved around the desk and sat on her beloved’s lap. “I don’t know how you do it: Just create wonderful works of art out of thin air. I watch you with your painting: You pick up a brush and suddenly, there’s a lifelike portrait of me, or the White Spire under a beautiful sunset,” Cassandra gestured to a few of Natalie’s paintings on the walls of the chambers.

“I’m not saying it to be nice,” Natalie said and wrapped her arms around Cassandra’s waist. “You’re better than you think you are. Don’t let the gremlins inside your mind get to you. Creativity is about desire. If you’re picking up a pen or a brush and making something, you are an artist. The more you do, the more refined your works will be. Those paintings,” Natalie gestured with her hand, though kept Cassandra held tight. “I went through five canvases to get the White Spire to not look like something a druffalo left behind.”

“I just remember the one canvas,” Cassandra said with a frown.

“Because I didn’t let you see them,” Natalie replied with a laugh. “They’re hanging in the stables.”

“I thought Blackwall painted those,” Cassandra said with an amused smile.

Natalie made a face and they both laughed. It felt good to laugh and to hear the words of the woman Cassandra loved, who held her tight and looked radiant in this light, her eyes filled with such love and sparkling like precious emeralds. Doubt still lingered, though Cassandra buried it long enough to kiss Natalie on her lips.

“Next time, let me see your poop paintings. Perhaps that will inspire me to write more,” Cassandra said, leaning her forehead against Natalie’s. It felt too good to be this close, and Cassandra was reminded of a verse from the poem.

“I will not hide my poop anymore. I promise,” Natalie said. Those same gorgeous eyes had taken on a more intense look and the way she bit the edge of her lip made Cassandra’s thighs burn.

Cassandra was suddenly very aware of where Natalie’s hands were and that she was still sitting on her lap. “Isn’t the Arl still here?” Cassandra asked, trying to cool her body as well as her mind.

Natalie smiled coyly as she pulled off her gloves and began to loosen Cassandra’s belt buckle. “I hate politics,” she replied.


End file.
